


A Little Unsteady

by thebaddestwitch



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Blow Jobs, Boys Kissing, Breaking Up & Making Up, Cheating, Established Relationship, Euro 2016, Fiction, Football, German National Team, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Locker Room Sex, M/M, Neuller - Freeform, Neuroud, Porn With Plot, Shower Sex, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-15 20:53:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9256847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebaddestwitch/pseuds/thebaddestwitch
Summary: The aftermath of the Germany-France Euro 2016 semifinal. Manu is trying to cope with the loss and it leads him to places where he never really intended to go.





	1. Chapter 1

Manu just drifts around the field after the final whistle, habitually hugging people and shaking hands, trying to look... well... coordinatedly devastated. The goals he conceded are on repeat in his mind. The entirety of things is on repeat in his mind and everything is questioned. Did he trust his people enough? Could Beni have reached that ball before Giroud? Before him? Did the team trust him enough? Because what the fuck was this otherwise, with all the hands in the air? He was there... with his very hands.... the only hands that can do as they please in that bloody rectangle. Looking at the result, though, it's probably completely the other way round... they trusted him more than they should have, with solving everything. _And I didn't solve shit._

Nothing but ifs and could haves and should haves. None of which he normally allows himself or needs. He doesn't believe in excuses or regrets. He doesn't believe in dwelling on mistakes. _But some things are just meant to hurt, really hurt, right? Ah look at you, bargaining with yourself again... so that you can have... what? Feelings? You are fucking mental, Manuel, fucking mental._

He is upset and bitter and he doesn't have a reason not to give into the dark thoughts. There is no next attack, next shot, next half, next match in sight for a while. It is just the vast emptiness. No, it's not even that, maybe in a day or two emptiness will settle in, but for now, it's a profound sense of absence rather. He wanted to win, of course, he always wants to, but more than that: he really believed that it was possible. That now was the time. Not only if they had a good day, if they had extreme luck or whatever... He just believed that they could do it. That they would find a way. That they could have it all. _Well. You can't work hard and be humble enough, can you?_

Suddenly he also feels old, genuinely old, for possibly the first time in his life. With the stadium buzzing around him, he starts to count... 2 years till the next World Cup, 4 till the next Euros... he will be 32, then 34... that's sort of ok for a goal keeper, if all goes well. All rarely goes well, though, he is aware of that, too, and he has had his fair - _define fair_ \- share of going well already. He is not one to attribute any achievement to luck, and definitely not his own achievements, but he is not ignorant or stupid either, he has seen things, luck does play a role, so one can only hope... But even if it worked... for him... what about everyone else? Yes the squad is forever changing and that is supposed to be normal, cherished even, but normal can go and fuck itself... it's him, it's them, and Uncle Manu in Uncle Manu and The Kids is not a role he is prepared to play. Even Thomas will hit 30. Thomas, who was practically a kid himself in Poland 4 years ago. He was, too, practically a kid, in some terms. With the chances so few and time slipping away so quickly, no match is just a match, nothing is just a badly assessed or implemented dive... Everything is... everything. He feels that more than ever before and he is overwhelmed.

Thomas is running the same errands in parallel, he is clearly catatonic. They only spend a few moments together, and the level of Thomas' disappointment makes it even worse for Manu than it already is. He can hardly stand being close to him, but not being able to offer any comfort...

He knows how Thomas had been struggling, how much he tried to counterbalance his increasing weariness with even more work, even more effort, how he worked his ass off, eventually trying to cover everything from midfield through wings to attacking... A mission set up to fail people will say and it was. Unless it would have still worked out fine, somehow. And he could have made it work - if anyone, Thomas could have. _He is... just... so bloody brilliant..._ Manu witnessed him battling through this tournament, through criticism and disappointment and doubts with the well-known, signature grin of his. He witnessed that grin getting more sour day by day and night by night. There is no grin now and Manu is not able to tell Thomas anything soothing. There is just nothing... nothing positive or good to be taken out of this loss, no matter how hard he is looking for something for them to hold on to.

"Fuck, get me out of here. This is hell..." Thomas mumbles. "And I think I've swallowed an entire moth family... can I die of that? Because if I can, I'd rather die NOW..."

But it's not about what they want or do not want. They still have to face the press, behave and answer a mixture of questions they have no answers for, questions that do not require an answer, and questions they just don't give the faintest fuck about. All while thousand cameras are zooming in on them, eager to capture any showing of the pain they will be nursing and trying to keep behind the facade of professionalism. Manu keeps an eye on Thomas, he is concerned that the younger one will buy into performing autopsy on himself on live tv, not that he could do much to stop him if he would. Also, it's usually rather him who does that... He eases a bit when he sees that Thomas finds his way of cutting things as short as possible being unusually laconic, and that he is waiting for him at the gates once done. He eases and keeps on talking, juggling with phrases he could whip out even if woken up in the middle of the night, his hands unintentionally touching his ears every 5 seconds like he would prefer not to hear his own words, which is the exact case by the way. But the longer he stands there, the less time he has to see the depressed, weary faces in the locker room and that's quite an important aspect for him now. He grew to accept the concept of losing as a team, but no matter how close he is to those guys otherwise, he is yet to come to terms with grieving as a team. There will be enough time for that later anyways. For now he is kind of ok with explaining the inexplainable for the 10th time instead, while watching Basti grabbing the still baffled Thomas' shoulders and pulling him with himself to the catacombs. Thomas gives him a look before disappering into the dark that is just wrenching Manu's heart, and his first, visceral reflex is to follow him immediately... Then he realizes that he is in the middle of a sentence - just can't recall what that sentence is about - and professionals don't storm out of interviews being in the middle of a sentence, turning a lost match into some medicore soap opera. Well, maybe some of them do - not him.

When there is no one familiar around or in sight anymore, and as actual desertion is not a real option - _oh fuck the cowardice_ \- he starts to look for his way back to their locker. Somehow he gets to be alone, seemingly forgotten, unguided and unattended on the long, winding corridors and the noises of the stadium finally start to deaden. The silence and solitude feel good, but Manu is anything but calm. He kicks into a trash bin resentfully, the noise it makes when it tips over echoes around him for long. He sets the bin back to it's place before leaving it behind. He is just getting rid of his compression shirt when he hears cleats clapping in the distance and his name called. He stops and turns back: it's Giroud. _What the hell?!_ Manu thinks, being fairly sure that his lack of interest in any small talk with anyone, but in particular with someone like Oli, is clearly readable from his face and he doesn't care that it's so.

"Shouldn't you be bathing in champagne somewhere?" he asks when Oli gets up to him and he can't help the goofy half-smile that appears on his face as he visualizes this scene. It's his first smile that evening, but it goes as it came: quickly. "Jah... also... congrats..." he continues in a not too elder statesman-like manner as he notes for himself. _Can this night just be finally over? Like immediately?_

"Been looking for you on the field," Oli starts to speak. Gosh, it's awkward. Manu grimaces. He has at least three spot on, sarcastic remarks to make, but he decides to spare both of them from further displays of social clumsiness, Oli is abashed already. "I mean. After. Wanted to say sorry... I have great... respect for you and your team, you should know that... Football is cruel..." he goes on. It doesn't get any less awkward. Quite contrary.

"Well that's nothing new, right?" Manu shrugs his shoulders. "That's why we love it. Ok. That was... a joke..." he adds and is praying for someone to rescue him from this conversation. _Did he really wait for me to tell this fucking bullshit? Why? Seriously, why?_ "I guess this should be an emotional jersey changing moment, but as you can see, I don't have mine anymore... " Manu proceeds looking down to his naked upper body and the undershirt he torn off of himself just a minute earlier. _WHY?_

Oli, feeling like having received an invitation, follows his look and checks him out rather shamelessly. He knows Manu already of course, and he has seen a quality selection of undressed hot men in and out of locker rooms, he is still struck by the sight... He marvels at the opalescent bruises on Manu's sides and arms and wonders briefly about the German's pain tolerance. What kind of a man does it take to find this much pleasure in a job where you just keep slamming yourself into the ground and getting hit? He heard some intriguing stories before... They are almost of equal hight, but Manu still somehow manages to make Oli feel small - a sensation as exciting as new to to the French. It has not much to do with size, it is rather the beast that anyone knows who ever had to clash Manu 1 on 1, but most people wouldn't expect to see off-pitch. Oli is not one of those people though - he is partly there now, standing in front of Manu talking nonsense, because of the nights he has spent sleepless thinking about that force of nature. He feels it in his guts and sees it in Manu's eyes that the beast is home and awake, angry and hungry, and the tension between this and the pale skinned, blonde haired, cold beauty of the man is just the ultimate tease for him. 

"I'm sure you still have a lot left to offer," he says staring into Manu's eyes, followed by an unambiguous glance downwards, peeking back up again cheekily, checking up on how his words resonate. No matter how manifest the message is, it takes Manu a few seconds to read Oli's face, to really read it, it seems so surreal to him. When he finally gets it, he is dazzled by the French's undisguised attempt to... what is this even called... seduce him? He blushes and he hates that he blushes, from what he just blushes even more.

"Drunk on success, are we?" Manu asks, the voice way less powerful and mocking than he wants it to be. Of course Oli is drunk on success, he would be, too. "What I have left to... offer... you most likely couldn't take..."

He also hates how ridiculously melodramatic that sentence sounds.

"There is nothing I couldn't take from you right now," Oli replies instantly. The remark is both arousing and hurtful, Manu is not sure about the original intentions, but it's a deep hit, either way. With that, the situation is starting to slip trough a point of no return and Manu doesn't seem to get a grip on it. He wants to, he really wants to. He doesn't like things just happening to him. He has to understand, anticipate, decide, lead and control and so he hastily tries to analyze what is really left in him, for anyone, including himself, and why he is just not leaving Oli there immediately.

Yeah the French is looking gorgeous, for sure. His sun-kissed skin, the insanely toned, powerful body, the shorts rolled up on his thighs... those endless legs in general... the sparkling blue eyes... Manu even finds the beard sexy and he is not into beards at all. He is not really into tattoos either, and has his (not too high) opinion of that tribal-infused celtic cross thing in front of him, but he finds himself being captivated by the view nonetheless... This should not be enough, though. He is not a man to fall for a pretty face... He is not a man to fall for anything or anyone, like this, to be honest - at least so far he hasn't been... But Oli is not only a pretty face. He is everything Manu is not in the that moment: self-assured, fearless, daring, ready to take over the world and still having the chance to. And he wishes to take over HIM, as a first step, apparently. Manu feels a strong, magnetic pull towards this. Towards all this glowing cockiness. Towards the challenge it poses and the basic, simple salvation it promises in return. Because he is hurt, too, hurt to the core and just wants to let go of the pain, if only for as short as 5 or 15 minutes. Or swap it with any other pain. He wants to get back into the saddle, he wants control. Control over anything. Anyone. He wants the opposite of this all, too, at once. Ha can't think properly. He is in slight panic.

"You are playing a dangerous game, Oli," Manu says silently, but rather as a warning to himself, he is quite clear about that. After all it is his ego and heart, and those of his people that is already shattered. It is also his team waiting for him somewhere in the catacombs within 5 meters or 50, sitting in a silent locker room, waiting to get the fuck out of this place as soon as possible... The French are surely celebrating and no one really notices someone's missing when 40 people are jumping around like fools, high on adrenaline. But it will take how long, before Jogi sends someone for him? And it is his... well... it is... Thomas. Manu is clearly the one to be worried more about playing dangerously here. In football he is all in for that. Privately... well... not so much?

"Do I look like I'm scared?" Oli smirks. He does not. Manu ponders briefly whether HE does, but the expression on Oli's face reduces him to something way more primal... He feels a sudden but inescapable urge for running his hands through the French's still perfectly styled hair and messing it up... Preferably while fucking him until either of them being unconscious, wishing hard it would be himself, so that the images of that bloody dive he made for the ball on the second goal, and Basti lying on the ground in front of him, and Antoine's freaking Hotline Bling-choreo, and Thomas' eyes stop playing in his head for some time. He assesses an alternative option too, but he isn't particularly into brawls.

Manu makes a decision. Someone has to, and he is good at making them. Not necessarily at always making the best ones, that's another thing, but he can get things going and this thing needs to get going, he can't let Oli eye fuck him longer out there. Currently he is rather unsure about where his limits exactly are, but sex in public is definitely not something he wishes to experiment with. He looks around, checking whether they really are alone, then tears up the first door in sight with such grim determination that it occurs to him only late that they could might as well end up in a room full of ball boys or technicians. Instead it's darkness, and it sucks them in and when Manu switches the lights on and turns the key, they both exhale sharply with momentary relief.

"So... come try and take what you want," Manu commands with a grin, holding his chin up high, his long arms are spread wide provokingly. He feels somewhat back in control and yeah... control is his drug. The pose makes him larger than life really, and utterly fucking sexy as well as Oli would also confirm. With tension and heat rapidly increasing in the room, it's his turn now to flush. "Or is it Antoine finishing everything you start?" Manu steps closer despite being slightly surprised by his own bare-faced comment, sort of expecting to get punched for it. He is also ready to hit Oli for any similar remark, or so he thinks, wouldn't matter he started it. Well... he is maybe not completely against brawls. He didn't actually hit anyone since he was 10 or so, but the concept is kind of appealing now. It's more looking for a way out though than anything else - a half-hearted, limp attempt to sidetrack their now all too obvious desire. Much to his surprise, Oli looks at him with a mild, knowing smile, then reaches out and grabs his nape by which he pulls Manu to himself. Manu doesn't resist. "I'd say," Oli pauses for a second, "it's me finishing what he has started, hm?"

Manu knows it's true and it stings, but Oli's hand feels warm and soft on his skin for a contrast and his whole gesture is so intimate and comforting somehow. It's strange, really, considering the setting, considering... him... them, and Manu is stunned by this random act of gentleness, also by his own reaction: being caught off-guard, neither for the first, nor the last time in their encounter that evening... and accepting it, not trying to escape. 

Oli leans forward and captures Manu's bottom lip between his own, his beard scratches Manu's freshly saved skin. There is a hint of teeth too, tender nibbling and pulling before he moves on to conquer the upper lip even more boldly, and it has the most brilliant effect on Manu, who lets out a hot, quaky breath and offers more access to Oli. Their tongues meet in heated, open mouthed attempts to connect, and they do, seamlessly, and the whole experience is too tantalizing for Manu to stop it, though he can't shoo away that he should, for the very same reason. Ok, he hasn't expected it to be actually bad, he is not a masochist like that, but should it be this easy? This good? He allows himself some further, drawn-out moments of being dominated by Oli, then, lowering his hands through Oli's back he shifts closer, and their eyes meet when he grabs Oli's ass and Oli feels that something is changing, powers are shifting, but he is not alert enough anymore to pull away when Manu bites down on his tongue ruthlessly. Oli winces, expecting the earthy, metallic taste of blood to fill his mouth - it's just hot, tingling ache eventually.

"Nah THIS is how we'll do it," Manu hisses into Oli's ears while using the French's momentary distraction to turn him around and push him into a locker door with a quick and violent move. Oli lands with a loud thump and winces again. "So if that's all the pain you can take, you better call it quits before it's too late..."

"It's too late already," Oli laughs, partly to hide his surprise, but also because he is genuinely impressed by the maneuver. He has imagined scenes like this a few times already... quite a few times, and though Manu was never this intimidating in his fantasies, it just makes it all the more exciting.

"Don't you dare to kiss me again," Manu groans. Here he goes again with his banal, melodramatic shit.

"Will you fuck me then? Or is this... just another... German fluff?" Oli breathes into the door. He is quite sure that Manu personally would have been far better of with a long, strong hug, which he would have also given him happily, but... yeah... Manu is an adult man after all, with a free will. And he is burning hot of an adult man, whose bulging erection is keeping Oli pinned to a piece of cold metal, and whose warm weight pressing against the other side of his body just feels so darn good. It's definitely not the time to exchange anger management best practices. Especially that Oli doesn't excel at those either. "There is condom and lube in my back pocket..."

"Shit, you are prepared," Manu curses as he is disturbed in his role of the predator again, nevertheless, he has to appreciate that someone is still thinking.

"You have no idea" Oli sighs. Both of them would be embarrassed if Manu knew the actual details.

"Strawberry flavored?" Manu rolls his eyes looking at the supplies. "Really?"

"It's what the hotel had, ok? Besides... strawberry is nice... Damn, mate, will you read the manual too?"

Manu drops the subject, he indeed has other things to deal with. He forcefully pulls down Oli's shorts and underwear and places a sharp slap on his ass with one hand - because hell, that curve is just asking for it -, while setting his own shaft free with the other. He kicks Oli's legs apart, opens and rolls the condom on, then tears the small lube packet open with his teeth, not exactly gently, so the content is instantly on his fingers and some of it on his shorts and maybe on the floor as well. He slicks up with a few strokes hastily and wipes the rest into Oli's ass with nonchalance. Not the most economical use of the substance, but it will have to do. From the way Oli is wriggling and panting impatiently under him already, Manu guesses that he would take him with spit only too without a second thought, would that be the only option, and this is luxurious preparation compared to that. Oli doesn't look back, but he feels Manu lining up against him, he feels his silent, boiling rage and when Manu takes a deep breath, Oli does the same, almost in full sync with him. He is giddy from wanting this. He knows it will not be nice and easy and it's fine, he doesn't want nice and easy. He wants the beast to be out now, out to get him, and he wants to see whether it can bring him down. Or... maybe... how quickly...

And in the very moment Oli exhales, and without any further warning - unless digging his fingers deep into Oli's hip counts as such, Manu enters him as hard as he can, filling him to the hilt with one merciless, bruising, but still shockingly fluent thrust. Oli cries out loud from the sudden hit of pain of Manu splitting him open, and the greedy thrusts that follow. Oli didn't intend to make that much noise, being well aware where they are and stuff, he thought he will be able to stand it, but there is no way to hold back as it actually happens... He presses his face into his own arm to silence himself. Manu is swallowing back tirades of cusses himself because yeah he had no fucking idea indeed... He has to help Oli steady his stand as the French's knees almost fail him and his hands are seeking something to hold onto in agony. He doesn't ask Oli whether he is ok, he knows he is not. Not just yet. He also knows that if the French is anything like him, he will never retreat and ask him to go easy on him, but to be frank, the start really was too vehement and they both need to calm down and relax a bit to be able to continue, no matter how cruelly satisfying he finds watching Oli as the tries to cope with the intrusion....

Manu forces himself to stop for a moment, he is holding Oli, letting him adjust, letting both of them adjust, semiconsciously guiding the French's breath with his own, while his cock keeps twitching in the thight heat. Oli trembles at the electrifying little jolts, responding beautifully even to the tiniest quivers and his breathing is turning into a different kind of ragged with each passing second. It's hot, very very hot, the sounds and how much Oli wants this, and it almost earns a rewarding little kiss from Manu, targeted at the shoulder blade, something purely out of reflex - or god only knows... Manu saves it to a groan muzzled by Oli's flesh to be on the safe side.

"Thought you are not... fhhhhuck... here to make love to me..." Oli demands. He is burning inside, but having Manu all around him, in him, enfolding him, owning him is plain awesome and he wants more. He wants everything. Now, this - despite the mockery - includes knowing what levels of carefulness and tenderness Manu is actually capable of, on top of not willing to tear him into two, but he still wants the latter too, well, non-literally, of course, so that other thought is kept for later... now he needs all his focus to stay on his feet...

"Thought you have a final to play in 2 days... it will help if you can walk..." Manu replies. He wants to put Oli to his place, he wants to wipe that smug look from his face, and he will, but not by hurting him - too much.

"Thanks I guess... but MOVE!"

Manu doesn't have any issue with being rough, seeing that Oli is fine with it, too. He pulls all the way out and slams back again with all his might to prove that, and Oli goes boneless again for a second, recovering almost immediately this time.

"Happy?" Manu pants, question being sarcastically caring passive-agressive, if that's a thing.

"You will know when I am," Oli combines a chuckle with a moan.

Manu quickly builds up a furious pace, one he didn't even think he would be capable of, for more reasons than one, but damn, here he is, up to screw themselves into oblivion and doing pretty well at that. Oli tries not to squirm too hard under him, which really is a challenge and Manu is super turned on by Oli's efforts to contain himself, then failing at it again and again. He spanks or grabs him harder when Oli buckles too hard, though the marks of his hands are already showing on the French. Manu's grip is deadly, but Oli fucking loves it, not even trying to deny it... 

He is also sky high already by this time, the pain is gone, or - more likely - he just doesn't care anymore about whatever's left of it, because fuck, German efficiency is really a thing and when Manu finds the perfect angle and the spot that has Oli literally shaking, he is not missing it once again. Oli somehow manages to free a hand without losing balance completely and reaches for his own cock, to hold off or to expedite things he doesn't know, the first would be hopeless, the latter is sort of unnecessary, but he has to feel all the things that can be felt and has to feel them immediately. As response Manu seizes him by his hair and pulls his head back vehemently:

"Can't finalists come without touching?" he groans into Oli's bared neck, but he doesn't really care, just hints he could. He could slap away Oli's hands or take over or twist his arms behind his back leaving Oli fully to his mercies, he could do a lots of things, and he probably would, as well, but now all his attention is aimed at keeping up the crazy rhythm he dictates and Oli in place, disciplined. There is no time to fool around. Oli's body is racing towards orgasm quicker and quicker with every accurately placed hit of Manu and every stroke of his own that's craving to match it. Manu senses how Oli is tensing up under him, how his pace is faltering and his breath is getting shallower than shallow... He is, on the other hand, struggling... For some moments he completely blacks out, maddeningly close to getting off, just to fall back from the edge every time to have blurry but pathetic thoughts about how this quickie is shaping up like the match itself, promising at the beginning but turning into a hard, fruitless strife, bringing pleasure only to the French eventually. After another series of powerful thrusts he feels there is no way he can continue or finish this, and remains perfectly still, buried balls deep in Oli's oh-so-amazing and now burning red ass, resting his head on the French's shoulders, fighting for air. He is all at once in hardly durable pain, on the verge of breaking down crying and gathering whatever resources he still has to continue until either or both of them completely ruined and knocked out - as per original plans.

"Hey," Oli huffs. "Please," he adds, thinking Manu is just playing with him, or even worse... "Please," he tries again, realizing that the sound that just left his throat was most likely not even a proper word. He pushes back on Manu wantonly, trying to get him rolling again, but it's not working and Oli is petrified by the thought of being left there hanging... _He cannot stop here? Can he?_ "Just a little more... it's... so good..."

Manu's frustration and fury peaks. Not being able to control his own body and mind is just too much for him. He can still control Oli though, as it seems, and it is then and there the next best thing and it's not that bad overall either. He wraps his right arm around Oli's throat, the left around his waist and dives into him deeper than ever before, which should not be physically possible, but it is... once again it is... and it almost does it for him, too... and once again, it does not... "Please..." Oli sobs out of his mind and Manu's hand moves from his neck on to his mouth as he sinks his teeth into his back to cut the begging. This is way more than enough for Oli to fell over the top and cover the locker door and everything else in the way with his seeds. Manu is bracing Oli's ecstatic body as he keeps coming, he fucks him through the waves of pleasure like a machine on the loose, and not even all the muscles tightening around him and Oli babbling words Manu doesn't understand, but likes the sound of are sufficient for him to finally climax as well. He just goes and goes ahead and Oli can't catch his breath, he most likely doesn't even recall that he needs to breathe to operate and maybe he doesn't operate anymore. He is drowning in this all consuming tide of want and more and Manu is both the last strap holding his pieces together, and the vigor tearing him apart. "I'm... it's... stop I..." Oli stutters. What has been too much of too fucking good turns into unbearable in a trice, he can't endure any stimulation any longer or he will fly apart and the glimmering sparks of sanity tell him that it's not the time and place to pass out on someone. "Ahhfuhhck..." he gasps at the sudden loss and sore emptiness as he slips off Manu in a haste with his last strength.

"Fuck... wow... this was... you are..." he gives up finding the word. They have already proved that they suck at talking and no word would come near anyways. It takes a good couple of seconds for Oli to regain at least some of his composure, then straightens up and turns around just to see Manu still leaning across him, chest heaving strongly, his red face covered in sweat and his eyes clouded, desperate. Majestic and dangerous like a wounded... something... deer? Oli's thoughts ramble, now he really feels drunk. _Are wounded deers dangerous, at all? Wounded goalkeepers might be..._

A glance down at Manu's throbbing cock gives him new focus though and he makes the German swap position with him swiftly and without any remarks, for which Manu is more than thankful. Manu, resting his back against the locker now, is clearly in distress. Oli can hardly believe that he hasn't come.

"Tell me what you need and I'll do it" Oli proposes readily. He genuinely wants Manu to accept the offer, he wants to make it up to him, at least for the last few minutes. He also wants to know what it is, what is the thing making him lose it if not a ride like this and he wants to do that, do whatever it takes, but Manu doesn't respond. If he knew the answer, at this point he would probably share it with Oli, but he has no idea what he should ask for, he stands there paralyzed, zoned out... "Fine," Oli murmurs, then drops to his knees, gets the condom swapped with amazing speed and deft hands, and wasting no time - not even taking a chance to have a proper look at it, which he will regret a bit afterwards - takes Manu into his mouth. Throwing his head back Manu closes his eyes and wishes Thomas was there to end his suffering. He could. He would. _The irony. How bloody ridiculous. Thomas._ Thomas' name is on his lips and he is not sure that when he is saying it, he is not saying it loud, whereas if anything, he should be calling the French's name who really tries his best to please him and give him his release. And his best is... well... it's quite remarkable. Oli swirls his tongue around him wickedly, works all the tricks he knows, and some he didn't know he does, attempting to take in Manu's full length, sucking, drooling, grunting, letting Manu use him, letting him keep his head pushed into his groin unrestrained, letting him fill his mouth so hard and for so long that he almost gags and runs completely out of air. And then he does it again and again and again, harder, longer, close to trans, clinching into Manu's strong thighs for dear life, wondering how any man can possibly last through this. It's as sloppy and dirty as it can get and his own cock is jerking again at the sensation and he just came minutes before, harder than he could recall coming for a good while, it doesn't matter, from Manu he is not getting the response he is pushing for so hard. He doesn't even look at him and shit, Oli longs for a look so hard now that it's almost pathetic. Not seeing Manu's torn face is probably the only thing between Oli and coming again, which would be crazy and amazing and sort of embarassing too... He would hate not being good enough for a 1:1 here, but he is running out of both ideas and stamina. And then he recalls their kiss and decides to give it a try and scrapes his teeth softly over Manu's length, and he is forcing himself to keep his eyes open to see whether there is any kinds of response, but there is nothing, still nothing, until there is... "Harder," Manu orders in utter misery and from then on it's just full on ruthless, and Manu takes it, and takes more and so Oli goes far beyond the point he would have ever dared to go based on his own judgment or personal preferences. 

It's already an overkill for Manu and at the same time nothing would be enough. Nothing in that room, anyways. He doesn't realize when Oli stops licking and sucking and biting him, or when he gets rid of the condom, the next thing he knows is a steady, firm grip on his cock and hot, wet lips on his neck, murmuring it's ok... let go into his skin. And as those lips reach his mouth again, he explodes instantly into Oli's hand letting out an unearthly, anguished moan, slamming his fists into the locker door as if to offload the rest of the tension. Then, for a moment it's the state of mental blankness he has been longing for - floating weightless amidst white sparks and white noise. But as consciousness crawls back into him again - way too quickly -, he feels exposed and would like the earth to open and swallow him so that he can just ignore what has just happened... What is still happening...

Oli watches in awe and disbelief. He can't bring himself to move, let alone move away, though somewhere deep inside he feels he should. It's like peeking or spying, trespassing on someone's property and seeing something not meant for his eyes, but such a guilty pleasure to watch that the risk of getting caught is negligible, irrelevant. Witnessing Manu falling apart before his eyes like this is just the single hottest thing that night, counting in their win and his own orgasm from which he is still shaky, and thinking of which is going to hive him goosebumps - amongst other things - even weeks later.

"Told you fucking not to kiss me ever again..." Manu pushes a smiling Oli away, when he finally feels strong enough to open his eyes and start to deal with reality again.

"And who said I'm taking orders from you?" Oli replies, reluctantly starting to get his shorts back on over his half hard cock, stopping to observe the marks Manu's hands left on his body. "Plus... I don't have the whole night, remember? I gotta bathe in champagne," he winks. Being the 90kg bundle of irritating, perky satisfaction he is, is making things easier for Manu, interestingly...

"Bastard," he curses without any real anger in his voice as he starts to clean himself up quickly. "How do I look?" he asks the French then instinctively and when Oli raises an eyebrow at him, he immediately regrets doing so.

"Dishy. I'd totally fuck you," Oli answers, not even trying to keep a straight face. Hell he really would... he would get back to it again right now... he most likely could as well, juding from what he just tucked back into his pants. Or if not now, which is sort of sensible... anytime, really. The response earns a clear look of disapproval from Manu.

"We won't make this a habit," he confirms verbally too, for the records.

"That's a shame... but if you say so," Oli smiles. Thankfully no wink this time. "Hey... wait... let me help. Keep calm, mate, not trying to kiss you or anything... you just... bit yourself... too..." he explains while trying to wipe away blood stains from Manu's lips and chin with his thumb. He goes for fixing a mischievous curl as an extra, but that really is just a test of how far he can still go without getting kicked. This far.

"Good luck hiding those bruises" Manu pulls away. "And on Sunday. And yeah... you really did... well... tonight... everywhere..."

"And you," Oli mutters, but Manu is already out to the corridor. His undershirt is covered by sweat and jizz so he just throws that into the first bin, where he spends an other minute trying to align his breath. He has no idea how he is going to do this. He walks into the team locker as calmly and normally as he possibly can - or at least how he imagines acting like calm and normal.


	2. Chapter 2

"Ah, at last, the prodigal son... where have you been? We just wanted to call security to find you..." Basti pulls Manu in for a hug, and it cannot be eluded. The team is all dressed, ready to leave, as he has expected.

"Nah, just the press... defeat is always... turning them on... and then I got kind of, khm... lost here..." Manu says. _All true, huh?_ He is looking for Thomas in the room, at once also trying to avoid directly meeting his eyes. _Like you could hide this from him._ Thomas is there, of course, and he knows Manu's just fucked look well enough. The vivid red and pale white patches on his neck and shoulders, the ears on fire, his swollen lips... The voice alone would give him away - deep and hoarse, yet somewhat shaky... He knows immediately what there is to know.

"It's fine, it's fine... we were just worried that... ah forget it..." Basti says. Thomas can't tell whether Basti is blind or this supportive of Manu saving face... Not that he would call Manu on doing whatever he has done in front of the team, but still, this conversation is upsetting and worse than that, it's making him feel stupid. For thinking Manu was alone somewhere, needing them... him... For not dragging him with himself earlier. For not telling Manu that he was in need. For thinking he doesn't have to tell. For still needing him. Wanting him. Wanting him so bad. For getting so caught up in self pity that he couldn't be the one who... He feels stupid and this is the last thing he wants to feel after this evening. Or month, as a matter of fact.

"I'd just take a quick shower and then I'm fine... I can... maybe I can go after you, if you..." Manu offers awkwardly, looking around.

"We leave everything on the field, but we don't leave anyone behind, you know that, Manu," Basti preaches. "Just get a sweater on or something... we are home in 20 minutes, can't that shower wait?" _Not really when you smell and feel like a GARDEN OF ROTTEN FUCKING STRAWBERRIES, MAN, but how would you know._

"I'll be in the bus," Thomas interrupts. "Feel like throwing up," he adds picking up his bag and leaving the room. It's true. It's not disgust, not anger. He feels like falling and it's making his stomach queasy.

Manu follows the team in about 5 minutes. Everyone is seated already as he walks down the aisle to the back rows alone. Thomas looks him straight in the eye as he is nearing. _You are playing a dangerous game..._ His own phrase echoes in Manu's mind as he opens his mouth to say something to Thomas, but Thomas is quicker, as always.

"Not in front of the kid," he warns silently, forcing something onto his face that distantly resembles a smile. As Manu is still standing there with his jaw dropped, he nods towards the seat in front of him. "He needs you... ok? Please."

Manu takes the seat he is instructed to take, somewhat relieved that there will be no public drama. But _he needs you_ as in _i don't_ , as in _just check upon Jo because he really looks like crap and you are his minder here_ or as in _give me a break, I need to yell at you and I can't yell now, can I_? He tries to chat a bit with Joshua next to him as the kid indeed can use some company. Manu is unsure about what to say, though... _Yes, shit happens? No, it won't get easier?_ He says both.

"We'll work through it..."

"Promise?"

"The work? Of course." He feels like anything but a moral compass in his current state, but being a familiar face seems to do the trick for now for Josh, so he is at least not failing everyone terribly.

"You shouldn't blame yourself either," Josh says after a while.

"Huh?" Manu asks back. He got lost in listening to Thomas gulping behind him and watching the blurry reflection of his face in the window, with the night lights of the city flashing in the background.

"You told me... out there... that I shouldn't... You shouldn't, either, I think" Josh explains. _You have no idea._

"One can only offer absolution to someone with a higher jersey number, so this won't work between us, sadly..." Manu replies seriously. "Kind of you, though..."

"Is this really a... Then... what about... Of course not, right? Very funny Manu... I'm really laughing so hard on the inside..."

Manu pokes Josh with his elbow gently and Josh gives him a side eye in return, telling him to fuck off, but also that it's fine and forgotten.

It's not that easy with Thomas, of course, who doesn't talk to him again until they get back home and off the bus. He doesn't talk to him in the lobby or in the lift. He doesn't talk to him until the door of their room is shut behind them. And then for further uncounted, torturous minutes that Thomas spends pacing back and forth, rummaging bags and suitcases and cursing, as if he has lost something precious. Manu is sitting on the bed, watching Thomas, waiting patiently for him to erupt. He knows he will, and that he has no right to rush him. Also that he can't help him any other way. He should probably be thinking of things to say himself. _Sorry? Love you?_ There is no skin thick enough for throwing these words at Thomas, not while still being sticky from sex with someone else, having fallen short of everything that love and trust would have obliged him to do. Or not to. He would mean those words, whatsoever. He does mean them.

And then Thomas stops. In front of Manu, within arm's reach and moving even closer, fingers gingerly tracing Manu's hairline... Manu hovers his hands over Thomas's legs, barely touching and nowhere too private, the back of his knee, and he presses his face into Thomas' forearms, mouthing _sorry, love you_ , knowing Thomas can neither see, nor hear it. Thomas touches Manu's shoulder with his free hand in return - not encouraging, not dismissing, acknowledging maybe. Yes, they are still here. Together. And so there is a chance that it might be fine, eventually, god only knows how, but it might be. They are both afraid that once either of them starts to speak, this will change.

"I wish we could just..." Thomas needs to clear his throat. And his mind. Again. Because it's still not about what they want or do not want and he can't be not angry about that anymore. He wanted to sleep, he wanted to fuck it all out, not necessarily in that order, and instead he know needs to have this conversation after which he most likely won't get to do either. "Shit," Thomas continues. "Shit, Manu. I know you. I know you way too well and I know your ways and I still couldn't have bloody imagined that you are going to... just fuck someone... after this... right on the spot... I... I demand to know who it was!"

"Oli," Manu says downright. He might be an asshole, but he never lied to Thomas and he has no intention starting it now.

"Geez... what... Bierhoff?" Thomas snorts in shock. Deep inside he hoped that there wouldn't be a name, at least not a name he knows. He asked but he was clearly not prepared for the answer. - No... no... no... Bierhoff was with us... Don't fucking tell me that it was Kahn or I am outta here for good..." he rants. Under different circumstances Manu would find this rambling kind of amusing.

"Giroud," he helps out and Thomas pauses for a moment as if assessing how bad this answer is on a list of all the... well... possibly fuckable Olivers he can think of, which list actually consists of the mentioned 3, and Giroud is definitely the most acceptable one for him on it. In certain aspects, at least. While in others...

"Ahhh, someone from the bloody French?! Really?!" Thomas steps back and starts to circle in the room again. "Were you consciously looking for a way to make this evening even more humiliating for us? I'm surprised you didn't go for a threesome with that fucking referee... and get it broadcasted..."

"I know. I wasn't... I'm just... such a... mess..." Manu says. Not to defend himself. How could he, anyways? To establish the facts. With the lamest possible words, obviously. _A mess, huh? How fucking original._

"Ahhh, yes you are. An awful, gigantic mess. But guess what? Most of the team is a mess right know. I am, for one, also a mess. This is how it goes, right? For fuck's sake you were at least playing ok... I personally was hitting a new career low with every single day spent here! Bild would send me on a 1 year sabbatical to get my shit together, and you know, they might be right... Still I could somehow avoid letting my team, including my boyfriend, wait for me in a crypt while banging a random Frenchman, just 15 bloody minutes after... God. That poor boy cried because of you in the locker, he was so worried for his Maaanuu... And then you just walk in freshly fucked, with a cock still dripping?! Geez, if this is your idea of leading by example, we are doomed... Not to mention your idea of us. I would need a sabbatical from you being such a dickhead. Couldn't you... couldn't you just wait an hour and rage fuck me? I can handle it... you... remember? I could actually really use someone fucking me into next week after all this shit, if you'd wonder. Or just you know... stroking my back while I'm melting down or whatever, because I also really feel like melting down. And I would prefer YOU to... I'd prefer you, full stop. Or do you want me to go and look for a French cock too? I can do it... wanna bet how quickly I can get hooked up with someone? What do you think about... let's say... Antoine?"

"Since when is he..."

"What?"

"Your type. Or into... men, while we're at it" Manu adds. _You fucking idiot, you._ Like he knew Oli was. And the results are known. He should keep his mouth shut. The tactic of trying to rationalize things has never brought him any success with Thomas anyways.

"Maybe I don't have a type. Maybe winners are my type..." Thomas is clearly only aiming to hurt there. He does have a type, and his type is sitting on his bed next to him and has just screwed him over. "Mmhh? Like the idea? Me getting wasted with him? Him getting everything you were supposed to get? Everything... huh? Shall I call Kingsley, ask for his number and see? They must know at least some twinks around who could be interested in being my... revenge fuck... Could send you dick pics to keep you entertained... Would you like that? Would you fucking like that?" Thomas smells fear and he really gets into it.

"Mmhnahh..." Manu fumes. He would prefer to say something witty to conceal how much he hates the thought even, but this is everything he can formulate. He doesn't like it at all, especially not that an actual plan is starting to shape up - with Thomas one can never know. He is totally the man to go on a scalp-hunting expedition in the middle of the night to take venegeance. He would definitely regret it by dawn, but that wouldn't be much of a consolation for either of them and Manu is for sure not ready for a night like that. "I'd rather hate that, actually. Please... don't..."

"I'd have very much liked to get to tell you the same," Thomas says gravely. "Damn, don't look at me like this, you don't have to... Not gonna happen. Told you already. I want you. While you want... well, that's the million Euro question, right? Clearly not someone who cares for you. Hope it was good, at least..."

"It was... satisfying," Manu replies after failing to come up with anything better, "technically".

Well, another answer Thomas was not exactly prepared for.

"Technically? Ok... wow. Manuel Neuer and his sick concepts of honesty" he says, starting to dig something out from his bags. "You can use it as an autobiography title, I won't sue you. Happy 'When Thomas Finally Gave Up On Managing My Neurosis'-Day, babe. You are fucking Elsa from Frozen, just 2 meters high and well hung. You should really watch that shit! Gonna... gonna go... for a walk now. As soon as I find my... damned... bloody... jacket..." he swears spilling the entire content of his backpack on the floor, kicking some stuff away angrily. "I just really hope something hits me and you'll be sorry for the rest of your entire fucking life, for being such an arse and putting me through this... You'll regret not going for the dick picks. You will sooo regret it..."

The conversation doesn't seem to have much left in it, Thomas really maxed it out and does not seem to expect feedback of any kind. Manu decides to take his shower finally, let both of them wind down, if that is going to happen at all, about which he isn't very sure this time. Thomas is always hot-tempered and impetuous, but in most of their fights his anger already perishes by the time he is finished with his rants. Sometimes earlier. But then again... Thomas is rarely genuinely angry... well... at least about things that actually bear relevance. And Manu never really had anything to feel genuinely guilty about, so this is different. So fucking different. 

He is naked, ready to step under the water when Thomas appears in the bathroom door. They both freeze for a moment. _The guy just fucked a stranger in stadium and he is blushing here, in front of me, I can't even...._ Thomas nevertheless goes on with his original thoughts as much as he can....

"Just to make it clear. I can imagine myself not wanting to say no to Oli Giroud either... and we both know I have kind of never said no to you, so yeah... I get it, it was a hot guy neutron star collision... Or I will try to keep telling myself that, because... damn. Tonight was not just a night, Manu. Tonight I would have needed you... for myself... for us. And you knew that... and you made a decision. And so will I. Till then," Thomas closes it down with showing a middle finger to Manu upon leaving. "Don't wait for me," he continues shouting from the room. "Just make sure you watch the damned news in the morning... Müller found in le canal after disastrous semi, with broken heart, career, neck and legs, with his last words he blamed Neuer... Because I'll do... I do!" Manu hears, then the door is slammed.

He steps under the shower and lets the water pour on him hoping Thomas will not actually do anything seriously stupid. Hoping he will come back safe and sound. Hoping he will come back to him. Hoping he will be able to actually say something to him then. In general he tends to think that he is the more mature one - now he needs Thomas to take over and be mature for them this time, otherwise... Yeah. That is a not a scenario he wanted or had to consider for a long, long time... He doesn't want to think about it now either. And he can't. He is tired, slips down and crawls into the corner of the shower cabin, stretches his legs for a while, his back, his arms, then curls back up into fetal position. The questions from the match are still there, now accompanied by new ones. _Gosh I've really fucked this up, haven't I?_ He tries to unwind telling himself that he knows how to. Well... he knows indeed... knows how to shut off the world in a sold out arena and focus on himself and the ball, or on the dynamics of the game. This, here, is something else though and nothing works and after a while he is just gasping for air uncontrollably and the frenzy doesn't subside, not a bit, not until he is totally spent and worn out, sitting thoroughly beaten in the corner.


	3. Chapter 3

Manu has no idea how much time passes like this... 5 minutes, 15 or 50... and he only notices at all that he has company when Thomas is already standing right in front of him. Manu doesn't move, just slowly tilts his head to meet Thomas' eyes and is staggered by the expression he sees on his face. It's one Manu doesn't know yet and despite the relief he feels about Thomas being back, staring into this uncharted grey-green universe is scary as fuck. Tears start gathering in his eyes and he wants them to stop, he doesn't want to be this cheap manipulative prick, fishing for pity, but trying to blink them away just makes things all the more obvious, so... damn.

Thomas is weakened by the scene, seeing Manu like this is unexpected and disturbing and he is not really thinking clearly when he starts to undress, he just needs to be in there with him. When it lands on the floor, Manu suddenly recognizes his own jumper in the pile of clothes behind Thomas, and he wants that to mean something, wants it so so bad. He can't actually think that it does, though. 

Thomas steps under the water and Manu doesn't quite get what is happening, he stands up nonetheless to regain some of his dignity. He is dizzy from the hot, humid air and from all the feelings and if he expects anything, he sort of expects Thomas to break up with him right there, the cruelest, weirdest way the guy could figure out during whatever time he had to think about it. He feels numb enough to face it though, if it has to be.

Instead, Thomas embraces him, hard and tight. Something, pride or shame, holds Manu back from relaxing into the motion, but the grasp keeps getting harder and tighter until there is no resistance anymore. Then, looping his arms around Manu's neck, Thomas kisses him with one of the slowest, deepest, most passionate kisses he ever gave him. This time Manu goes with it, like there is no tomorrow - he is pretty sure at that point there will not be. For them, at least. But hell, does it feel good?!

"I've felt so worthless tonight on the field, so utterly worthless..." Thomas whispers into Manu's mouth. "And not only there," he adds. Manu needs to protest with whatever words he is able to find. "You are not... worthless... never... nowhere..." is what he manages.

"Prove it" Thomas cuts in. It actually sounds like he means fuck off, but it's not a fuck off, so maybe... maybe, he would really allow Manu to do that. "Wanna start with telling me how you've felt?" Here we go, Manu thinks. He wants to say no, but he knows it's not disputable. Not if he wants Thomas here, if he wants time. So what he says instead is,"disappointed".

"Continue," Thomas orders quitely, then returns to kissing Manu like he has never stopped and has not intention to ever do, making it impossible for Manu to obey. "What... what do you want?" Manu complains out of breath when they let up for a moment and he knows upfront that it is in vain, but boom, there goes the numbness.

"I want us to talk and I want to hold you, is that wrong?" Thomas replies. It's not, of course, because how could them letting off steam naked in the shower ever be wrong, right? _Right_ , he decides, despite the tone... The tone which is not exactly promising what it usually does, but it doesn't matter too much, because Manu wants to be good sport here, he wants to let Thomas take them wherever he decides to, and do whatever he just pleases to do. It's just that he doesn't really feel the power or focus to actually go through it all. Not now. Likely not ever, but not now, that is for sure. "Continue!" Thomas repeats. 

"Sad... angry... old... insecure... lost... robbed, empty... lonely... weak," Manu gives in. It's a trust fall, and he doesn't expect Thomas to catch him, he doesn't feel like deserving it, but he decides to jump anyways. "I couldn't... I... I know you were... all of that, too... and it... hurt so much to see you like that, but I couldn't..."

"Hm? Look at me? So you just... fucked someone, whom it was more convenient to look at?" Thomas concludes. "Or were you so wound up that you just had to bend over for him?"

"No," Manu rushes to stop this speculation. "But thanks for oversimplifying my drives like this, it should help us..." he adds, guessing that sarcasm is not gonna get him anywhere.

"Us, huh? Let us further explore your drives then, shall we?" Thomas doesn't let himself be distracted and moves on easily. "Did you kiss him, too?" he hums whilst running his fingers through Manu's wet hair. At the same time Manu feels it on his hips and abs how Thomas is growing hard against him. This has never been a thing Manu had issues handling, still, he is paralyzed now. At least it's not just him, he thinks, and that makes this entire scene a bit less inconvenient, even though he doesn't feel authorised to do anything he would normally do about it and has done hundreds of times already... till today. With his hands awkwardly clinging on to Thomas' waist he must look like a shy, inexperienced teenager in a not particularly heated attempt too slow dance at a school party. Apart from the fact that it's still very fucking heated and from the waist down his body is not at all interested in moral dilemmas, it reacts to Thomas as it always does, seeking friction, wanting contact without hesitation, apparently remembering all the contact they ever had. It must be a kind of muscle memory and it's only Thomas' tight hold of his hips and the _tsk tsk tsk_ sound accompanying it that tames the involuntary thrusting. "Did you?" Thomas repeats the question and Manu finds the calmness of his voice way too freaky. He'd rather have Thomas shouting for days at him than another sentence like this.

"Yes," Manu admits. It doesn't seem to matter making a distinction here between kissing Oli and letting him do it or not beating him up for it. Nothing seems to matter, actually, when Thomas is licking his way through to his neck hungrily, soon hitting the same spot Oli was kissing not more than 2 hours ago. Manu shivers.

"Hm? Here?" Thomas stops, he is like a hound now, one that has just caught the scent. Manu nods, knowing that even the nod is unnecessary. Nevertheless, Thomas does not let him get away with a gesture only. "I'd like to hear you say it, Manuel!"

"God..." Manu pants. The way Thomas pronounces his name really gets him. "Yes he kissed me there," he says and Thomas kisses him again, right there, sinks his teeth carefully into his skin to mark him, then moves on to the other side of his neck, slowly meandering to his shoulders and arms then back and down to his chest, covering the path with kisses and licks and bites. Manu's heart is beating like 1000 drums and though he feels like fainting any moment, he wants the beat to be harder and louder for Thomas to hear and be able to palpate it, he wants him to linger there and listen and touch and know that it is all for him...

"Did you let him touch you?" Manu hears Thomas's voice again.

"Yes."

"Here?" Thomas proceeds, now loosely fisting Manu's cock, thumbing the head a few times. Manu couldn't tell which he finds more maddening, the actual physical contact or the vulnerability, how embarrassingly hot he is for this. It's not right, it cannot be right. This is not what people do when... Not what he assumes they do, anyways. He can totally see how this is going to end. Yes, on the canvas of his eyelids he can see himself letting Thomas tear him down, he can see himself begging for it... for anything... anything that is Thomas. He can hear the word _slut_ in a low, husky voice, and feel how it will burn its way through his skin and flesh and bones into his heart, and how he'll want to say _yours_ and how he won't be able to. He is never able to. Not when it really matters. He can hear Thomas repeating it, and he can see himself coming completely undone from his words. He can see himself back on the floor again, too, ruined, shaking, and it's tainted and sick, but fuck, he doesn't think he is able to not want it. Because this might be the last time and he wants a last time. Because it is his penance and this is where Thomas wants him to be. "Manuel," Thomas says, "open your eyes, stay with me".

"Jah..." Manu pants as he tries to rock back into Thomas' hand when he stops, but Thomas is not letting himself get rushed or pushed and Manu is totally losing it.

"Wow, look how needy you are, babe. Wasn't he good? You said it was satisfying, didn't you? You know... technically... " 

"Thomas... please..." Manu whines. "I can't..."

"Really?" Thomas asks. "Shall I stop? I can stop." Manu shakes his head desperately, he can't quite imagine that - stopping, he can't imagine anything out of this small, steamy booth right now, there might not even be a world beyond anymore. "Thought so. I know you can. And I need you to," Thomas declares with one hand slipping into the crack of Manu's ass with evil determination and the other changing grip on his cock and _fuck, fuuhhck_ , it's just the perfect amount of pressure suddenly at all the perfect places and then those perfect hands are gone again and Manu can't breathe and can't squeeze a voice out of his mouth. He tries to lean into a kiss driven by nothing but shameless desperation, but he is denied. Again. He is ready to start begging... but he should beg for what, exactly? A kiss? A proper hand job? Thomas not to make fun of him when he comes from something not even that aforementioned imaginary teenager would call an actual hand job? Forgiveness? Mercy? Air? Time to roll back 2 hours? Or a month? He pushes his forehead to Thomas' and this is something Thomas allows so they are just there, standing, locking eyes and it feels like he is begging for all those things at once, and it feels like Thomas understands, but maybe he doesn't, or worse, he does but cannot be bothered, because:

"I asked... whether he was... good... Manuel. Tell me!"

"Yes," Manu admits, "he was... he was good... so good..."

"Better than me?" Thomas interrupts.

"Fuck, Thomas," Manu squirms. "I'm gonna come here and now, practically from you talking to me, no one has ever been better than you... to me, for me... In every damned way possible... It isn't even a question, you know that. You have to know that. You know that, right? If it is, I... I..."

"Hey... shhh... shhh... you love penalties, don't you? You're supposed to be good at them too, huh? Hold on for some more and tell me... did you come for him?" Thomas continues in full psychopath-mode while caressing his sides and chest soothingly. Manu would like to debate the terminology, it was not for Oli. Or... okay, maybe it was... Whatever... just whatever, really...

"Yes," he answers, acknowledging defeat.

"Did you think of me? At all?" Thomas asks with the same unfathomable face and voice and Manu is amazed how Thomas is able to keep his shit together like that, being hard as a rock, kissing him, stroking and licking him, never not touching him since he entered the cabin. And still. He is controlled and cool and Manu doesn't get it... Thomas has kinks (they both have, apparently), but this is Thomas+.

"Yes," Manu says, noting that he knew absolutely shit about playing dangerously, compared to Thomas, let alone Thomas+. What doesn't register with Manu though is how Thomas is using his last doses of willpower to make this come through like that, whereas now he just really needs to know before he makes is own trustfall.

"You wouldn't lie to me, would you?" Thomas asks.

"I wouldn't. I don't," Manu says and he doesn't. But what he is telling is not the full truth either. He is answering the questions, but the answers are not what Thomas needs to hear. Not what he needs to tell him. Not the things that are really hard for Manu to confess. He has to tell him what he really feels bad about and it is not putting his dick into Oli, or having his hand or lips on his cock. That's just chemistry and physics. It's not even about the kiss really... Or maybe it is. But not about the what, rather about the how. How Oli got him figured out. Immediately, as he thinks about it now. How hot and embarrassing and scary it was. Is, maybe. And there is no way for Thomas to ask about this because how could he know... He went as far as he could already. Manu is just getting to understand it. This twisted little freak has been throwing them the life belt by forcing him to talk, no matter how sick way he has found to do it... Manu knows silence kills Thomas, and it would kill them as well, eventually. He needs to talk and no matter how tormented he feels, he is thankful for getting a shot at it.

"I was so high on it, barely conscious, but... I... couldn't get off and couldn't not stay there with him either. He was practically swallowing me and I just pushed him and pushed him more... I would have pushed him until he somehow... morphed into you..." he needs a pause. It's too much on too many levels, but in that moment specifically on the level of recalling that feeling with Thomas grabbing him harder word by word, all possessive and greedy and wild.

"Continue,"Thomas breaths grinding hard into him.

"Then he stopped and kissed me and told me to let go and... I just... did. Like I needed... Like he could give me..."

"Permission?" They both jerk at the word.

"I guess..." Manu says. _Like he could give me what you give. Like he actually did morph into you_ , he would like to add, but he just can't.

"Ok," Thomas says as if he was reading Manu's thoughts. "Ok," he repeats and there it is, the silence Manu has been so afraid of. He has to step back to get support from the wall, he really feels off-balance, and that feeling just increases when Thomas doesn't seem to follow his move immediately. It's not what Manu thinks, though, it's that Thomas is all at once so fucking close that he needs this tiny bit of distance to be able to carry on. For just a little longer. "So he gave you what you needed... not what you wanted... huh? But you feel bad about it... because? You can never let go, right? Not for real. And no one can allow you what you don't allow yourself... And no one can know what you need... who you are..." A _not even I_ is floating between them in the air.

"No," Manu rushes to say, but pauses to reconsider. It shouldn't be some automatic, defiant protest. "It's that... it has never felt right or safe... only with you." It's supposed to be a testimony, a creed. An apology, first of all. Instead he finds the words to be selfish and rude as he hears them leaving his mouth, like even what he regrets is only about his own insecurities, him being afraid of getting hurt. And it's very much about that, yes, revealing more layers of what anger and loss turn him into than he would like to think of.... than what even people he loves, and supposedly love him have ever seen... let alone could or wanted to deal with. People apart from Thomas. Thomas has seen it all, and that is definitely not like hitting the jackpot, as the happenings of this day so eloquently illustrate. Still there is a weird, proud spark flashing through Thomas' misty eyes hearing this. It tells everything about what they have built together, what they are together, why this hurts both of them in such unexpected ways. Thomas wants to say something like _yup, you don't fuck strangers to feel safe, dummy_ and it almost slips out, but there is no room for snarky remarks when the other stands totally shieldless before him, naked in all possible ways. Or when he is so fucking touched and turned on that he couldn't finish the sentence anyways. "I'm sorry that you have to manage... me... I accept it if you dont't want to, anymore," Manu continues. "Or you know... I will... I promise I will try to, if that's what you... really want..."

"Enough" Thomas has a lump in his throat now, his voice is trailing off. He reaches for Manu's hand and guides it to his groin, showing what is what he really wants, pleading Manu without further words for touching him, taking him, giving him what he is aching for so much and giving it immediately if not earlier. _Take us home. Now._ And Manu does. He entwinds his fingers with Thomas' and takes both of their cocks into his hand, it's his _i got you_ , and the message goes through, and there is nothing else from that moment on, other than the two of them melting into each other, kissing, moaning, gasping for air, their bodies rubbing, wet skin rustling on wet skin.

They dissolve fully in the proximity and so even if they wouldn't know their way around each other as they do, it wouldn't take long, but like this, being on home ground with each other, being home ground for each other, it is not even a question of minutes for them to blow. It's intense and it's cozy and familiar too, it's everything they need. Manu is drilling his head into Thomas's neck and his heavy breathing is gradually turning into silent sobbing. He is opening up like he rarely does, with Thomas holding him firmly against his body, fondling his back gently to calm the termors of the crying and the aftershocks. This is letting go, whatever Manu thinks he has done earlier, Thomas is sure about that, and he is trying to make Manu as comfortable as possible with what he will most likely never be. He feels complete again, needed, and this hard-fought, bittersweet happiness anchors him while he is wishing for the water to wash away everything else.

After a while, Thomas wraps themselves into towels and guides Manu into bed. They are lying next to each other for long there, motionless, enjoying the cool sheets around their heated bodies, staring at the ceiling.

"Are you ok?" Thomas asks, several minutes later.

"Don't know..." Manu sighs. "Am I? Are you? I mean... what now?" Manu still fears a plot twist deep inside and Thomas gets that, but he just can't stand to be a bit mean again now that the storm is settling.

"Aren't you tired?" he yawns.

"Thomas...You know what I mean... Was this..."

"What?"

"Make up or break up sex," Manu says. Thomas hears how hard he swallows after the words are out, the question still sounds a bit superflous to him.

"Dunno," he replies and turns towards Manu, fingers wandering through his chest. "Do you think I should forgive you and say what happens in... ah... whatever bloody French town we are in, stays in this bloody French town and let's just move ahead? Because we are both fucked up and crazy, but without each other we would be even more fucked up and even crazier? Not in the good way? Also because... give or take a world class blowjob... I'm the hottest fucking lover you could ever put your big goalie hands on and I shouldn't deprive you of myself? And mainly... because... tonight is just a night, after all... and you are here... we are both here... yeah? And so all I wanna care about is..."

"Marseille," Manu stops him.

"Huh?"

"The town. We are in Marseille."

"And is this your fucking answer?!" Thomas cusses as he sits up with a not completely faked annoyance.

"No, damn. I love you. My answer is that I fucking love you and yes to everything you have said. I just had to stop you... you talk an awful lot... and this inattention to your surroundings bothers me deeply too... but mainly... yeah... wanted to say it first..."

"You have said it first anyways, haven't you? Earlier..." Thomas replies and Manu's eyes widen. "That's about my inattention and stuff. But so sure this is what I wanted to say, too? " he teases. Of course it was... is. Manu and a proper sleep, whatever the fuck else he could want, really, but Manu's face is red again in the meanwhile:

"Wasn't. Until like... maybe... 20 seconds ago," he confesses and yanks Thomas back to himself.

"20? Seconds?!" Thomas is asking back in disbelief. "Geez... what a... dork you are..." he says then with a wide smile, snuggling up to Manu and pulling a blanket over them. This is how they fell asleep, trusting they are ok. Or will be.


End file.
